Hell2Pay
by JonBarretta
Summary: The first book in the Dragon series. Gunslinger universe.
1. Welcome

***WELCOME***  
  
"You know, time slows down when you're staring down the  
  
barrel of a gun. It gives a man time to think. And I don't  
  
care who you are, you use that time. Maybe your thinkin'  
  
about your family, and how much they would miss you. Maybe  
  
you're thinkin' about your wife, and how much you would miss  
  
her. Hell, maybe you're thinking about the very man with the  
  
pistol grip in his palm, and how much you would pay to be in  
  
his position.  
  
"Me, I think a little bit deeper than that. Mama always  
  
said I was the smart one. I always thought... outside the  
  
box, to quote my father. With all the trouble I'm in, I  
  
guess she was wrong. These bullets been a long time comin'.  
  
So, the way I see it, I've got all the time in the world.  
  
Which is just long enough to tell you my story." 


	2. Press Start

***PRESS START*** Jon Barretta stepped into the Church with one thing in mind: revenge. Revenge on the man who broke his arm. Revenge on the man who put a hole in his throat. Revenge on the man who killed the only girl he ever loved. Revenge on the man who took everything away from him. Roland made his life a living hell, and so Jon would send him there. One way or another. The stench of death wafted through the hallowed halls. It was an uneasy combination of sex and shit. Barretta was forced to use all god-given willpower to keep from vomiting. It was the kind of smell that could drive a man mad. His left hand tightened on the longsword at his side. The crimson symbols on the wall (bloodbloodohgodsomuchblood) blurred into an ocean of scarlet and concrete. The statues in every corner came alive at every horrible opportunity. This was a place of nightmares. Jon wanted to run. He needed to run. Dust kicked up from under his feet as he strode toward the alter. Even his own footsteps shot goosebumps over every crumbling inch of his skin. There were dead bodies in the pews, rotted away to little more than skeletons with shitty clothing. Men, women, children, it didn't matter. They were dead. God only knows what he did (pleasegodnoleavemywifealone) to them. Roland was one sick bastard. The alter was made of solid steel. It was still shining, excluding the bloodstains that spotted the corner. And there was a noise. My god, what a terrible noise. It was the kind of noise that could shatter all the teeth in your head at once. It was kindof like a deep, low, resonating scream. Like pain from the mouth (ohgodnoyousickfuckleavemybabyalone) of satan himself. Jon stopped about a foot away from it. He stood there for a long time, just staring at the sound and slowly losing his mind. What a terrible sound. A terrible, horrible sou- "Having fun, Jonny boy?" That voice. That terrible voice. Jon Barretta slowly turned, if only to face his final destiny. As he did, he drew his sword. "Jon, Jon, Jon. You were never one for hello's, were you?" Jon paused there, sword drawn, his eyes locked onto the man who had taken everything. "That's right, Roland. Luckily for me, I didn't come to say hello," Jon raised his blade to point at the monster, "I came, to hear you say goodbye." "And so it begins." "That's were you're wrong, Roland. This is where it ends. This is where it all ends." Both men charged at that very moment, weapons drawn, Gods fury raging in the air between them. ***2BCONTINUED*** 


	3. Options

***OPTIONS*** They called him Dragon. His long black hair fell over his face as he stepped through the Tavern door. He was wearing a long black trenchcoat over a t-shirt and jeans. His leather boots made a clunking sound as the hit the hardwood floor below him. His glove-clad hands stayed in his pockets, hiding them from the outside world. And there were his eyes. They were cold and black, like the Reaper's cloak. A long, red blade, about four feet in length, swung at his side as he walked up to the bar. All he wanted was a drink. The girl behind the bar was beautiful, no question. Her blond hair fell to her shoulders in soft, gentle strands. Her cheeks blushed slightly as she saw him. "How ya'll doin' today Jon?" "The question is," Barretta sat down at the stool directly in front of her, "What am I drinking today?" "Don't be a wise-ass. I'm just being polite." "And I'm only kiddin'. You know I couldn't be mean to you, you're too damn beautiful." At this, her face flared up like an arsonist's dream. She couldn't say anything to this. She hated it so when he sweet-talked her... "Anyway, how's about a nice, cold bottle o' whiskey? I need it with how this day's goin'." "Alright..." She stood there, looking at him from under her bangs, "One usual, comin' right up." Barretta felt a strange, miniscule hesitation in her voice. And he didn't like it. "Sara," He brought his hand to her cheek. She didn't push it away. "Sara, what's wrong?" She pulled her hand up to meet his. "Nothing..." "No, something is wrong. Tell me." Nothing. She just stood there. "Please, Sara. I'm begging you. I couldn't live knowing that something is wrong." She looked up at him, her eyes meeting his for one brilliant moment. "Dragon..." "Please don't call me that. It hurts me." "Jon, I think I'm in trouble." There was a long silence. "Trouble? What do you mean?" She felt so guilty telling him this. It was like using him. "I..." She couldn't get the words out, "I... A guy came in here last night. Said he was looking for a guy called Barretta." "What did you tell him?" "That you were dead." "And what did he say?" "He called me a liar..." There was that hesitation again. "He said he was coming back today. He said that if you weren't here... He said I would... I would..." She burst into tears. Warm, salty drops dripped down her face, carressing his hand on their way down. Jon withdrew his hand. He stood, placing that very hand on the leather handle of the blade at his side. He hated tears. They burned him. They killed hi- There was a creak. It was the door. Jon turned, drawring his sword. Standing before him was a man. He looked about 35, balding, heavy goatee on his chin. He was wearing grey b- But none of that matters. Right away, Jon knew this was the guy. It was time to have some fun... 


	4. Level 1

***NEW GAME***  
  
The man in the doorway was a scary looking figure. He looked over 6 feet tall, though who knows how tall he(or maybe it) really was. He was also one UGLY motherfucker. Words can't even begin to emphasise how hideous this guy was, so I'm not even gonna try. He had a deep cut on both hands, tracing right across the knuckles. His hands were nothing but heavy scarlet stains. And in those hands, those bloody, bloody hands, was a solid steel chain. It must've been at least 6 feet long... and there was something on the end. A metal ball, big enough to smash Barretta's head like a melon. A normal man would've cowered in fear. But Jon Barretta wasn't a normal man. He was the Dragon. The Stranger made the first move. In one fast, fluid motion, that wrecking ball was making it's way towards Barretta's gut. It would've hit, too, hadn't he moved at exactly the right moment. Instead, it just cracked against his hip with power that could've easily broken him in half. Jon was knocked down in an instant. Sara's screams of sorrow were distant. When he looked up, that steel demon was above his head and comin' down fast. He was luckily able to roll to the side, just in the nick of time. Barretta could feel the splinters of wood from the floor (stopityousickfreak) imbeding themselves in his neck. Using all his strength, Jon managed to somehow get to his feet, just in time to feel that steel slam him in the shoulder. His arm was (ohgodno) broken on impact. And so the Dragon lie on the floor with a broken arm, and the Stranger had that instrument of death raised above his head. Jon had only the blink of an eye (getupjongetup) to act. Even with that blink, though, he would be gambling his life. Jon Barretta always had a gambling problem. Before anyone knew what happened, Jon was on his feet, sword in hand, eyes- a-blazin. It was time to place his bets. "Put it all on black..." Jon could hardly speak. The Stranger paused. "What in the fuck are you talking about?" Hesatation was just what the doctor ordered. Jon struck with the speed of a cat, shoving the blade forward with all of his strength. He hoped to God that he wouldn't miss. The Dragon never missed. The Stranger's look of utter amazement as the sword peirced his stomach... now that, my friend, was a look to remember. Not much time to soak it in, though. He was dead the second the blade smashed into his spine. ****** And sitting at the bar, was a man. A man with sandlewood grips on his guns. 


End file.
